


Winter Discoveries

by remanth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, archaeology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, recent doctoral graduate of archaeology, goes on an expedition in the Arctic Circle. There, he meets the expedition doctor John Watson and realizes the attraction he felt from the first was very much mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Discoveries

This wasn’t the first dig Sherlock Holmes had been on. It wasn’t his first foray into fieldwork or getting dirty or cataloguing. Nothing like that. But it was his first dig since graduating, since achieving his doctoral degree at the young age of 24. While he wasn’t the youngest ever to receive his doctorate in archaeology, he was definitely one of the youngest. And that paper sitting proudly on his dresser at home made all the difference on this dig. Now, if that pride could just keep him warm. The metal of their huts barely kept the wind out and did nothing to keep heat in. He hated the things but they were better than tents. What Sherlock didn’t know was that in a few short years, the metal huts would be commandeered for troops fighting in another world war. Luckily for him, the dig would be long over by then.

It was morning again and it was time for his turn in the cold digging in the squares the other archaeologists in the camp had marked out. There was a geologist in the group as well who said they should be hitting a cave system to go by the rocks he’d been finding and the type of ground they were digging in. There were a few other scientists, a few cooks and the like, the onsite doctor named John Watson, and a nurse. That was it for the small dig that was on the edges of the Arctic circle. Then again, that was really all they needed. Supplies had to be trekked in with the original group or carried by sled later on. Planes were an expense the team couldn’t afford and most of them were simple prop planes that didn’t do well in the cold here. Sherlock wondered if there would be a point in the future where planes were commonplace.

And speaking of Doctor John Watson, there he was. The good doctor could usually be found talking with the expedition members, making jokes and verifying that they were all in good health. He shivered underneath a heavy jacket, his tanned face and hands showing he’d spent time in a sunny climate. Afghanistan, Sherlock knew, from overhearing him speak about his time with the army. Whenever the doctor let slip personal stories, Sherlock always found himself listening, spellbound. Why, he hadn’t quite figured out yet. But he would, given time. That was all they had up here, time and their shifts for digging.

“Good morning, Doctor Holmes,” John said jovially when Sherlock neared him. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder and smiled, the gestures making Sherlock’s stomach flip. “Looks to be a cold one today. How are you feeling? Keeping warm in your hut?”

“As warm as I can,” Sherlock replied, only stumbling over his words in the beginning. He didn’t think anyone noticed though John’s smile seemed to get a little warmer. He managed to smile back before looking away from John’s eyes. “Who ever thought metal was a good material for a cold expedition anyways?”

“It certainly wasn’t me,” John laughed, shaking his head. He patted Sherlock’s shoulder again as Sherlock turned away. “Keep yourself warm and make sure you watch for frostbite. You have any problems, you come to me. I’ll take care of you.”

“I’ll do that,” Sherlock promised, mind running through all the possible implications of “care”. But John was already talking to another scientist, shaking his hand and talking about the weather again. 

With quick steps, Sherlock headed to the digsite and grabbed the tools he needed. Maybe he would be the one to find the cave the geologist kept going on about. He hoped so. Caves would be excellent places to find artifacts and other things. They were warmer than bare ground and could hold the heat from a fire. Any people who lived here would likely have spent a good deal of time in caves if they hadn’t built homes of their own. And digging would help keep his blood pumping and his body warm.

Once given his section by the director of the dig, Sherlock let himself fall into a kind of trance as he worked. There was something he loved about digging in the dirt, peeling away the layers time and the earth had pulled over secrets. One of his most treasured possessions was a little clay cup painted with Greek gods he’d found on one expedition to the Mediterranean. He’d been allowed to keep the cup once it was catalogued and photographed as the museum had plenty of examples and not much room for more. He moved almost on automatic, always on the lookout for something interesting in the dirt. Until he fell through the dirt.

His startled yell brought several people running, including John and the geologist he’d been talking to earlier. The geologist was whooping and exclaiming that he was right, there was the cave right there. Luckily, the fall wasn’t all that far and, even though Sherlock landed on his back, he wasn’t terribly hurt. John jumped in immediately, one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder pushing him back down when Sherlock tried to get up.

“Wait, I want to make sure you didn’t break anything,” John ordered. He felt over Sherlock’s limbs, making sure there were no breaks or sprains. And if it seemed to take longer than it should have, well, John was the doctor, wasn’t he? And he was just making sure Sherlock was fine. There were out in the middle of nowhere, after all. “Okay, you seem to be fine, just winded. Nothing’s broken.”

“That’s good,” Sherlock replied, a little breathlessly. His eyes were wide and mouth somewhat slack as he watched John. The warmth from his hands bled into his skin and made Sherlock want to squirm. But he kept still, waiting with barely disguised impatience until John was finished. And then John looked into his eyes, the same expression in them Sherlock knew was in his own. Then it clicked. “ _Oh_.”

“Oh?” John asked quietly, tilting his head to the side and quirking one eyebrow. “That sounds like a significant “oh”.”

“It was,” Sherlock nodded but was stopped from saying more when other members of the expedition dropped into the cave beside them. Lights were brought in and Sherlock saw that he’d found exactly what he’d been hoping for. There was a pile of bones, obviously marked with tools, along with some bowls and other implements. He’d just barely missed crushing everything when he’d fallen in. There were also some paintings on the walls, done in ochres and blacks, of animals that were common to the tundra they were in. The next few hours were spent photographing and cataloguing the artifacts they found and documenting the cave paintings. By the time they were finished, Sherlock felt stiff and bruised. And cold.

When he headed back to his hut after grabbing dinner, he was surprised to find John waiting inside. They never locked the doors. Who would steal anything out here? And if something did go missing, you didn’t have to go far for likely culprits. But he’d never had visitors. The others didn’t particularly like him, not when he could tell them anything about themselves that they likely didn’t even notice. He was labeled as the strange genius and left alone. Seeing John waiting as if he belonged in the hut, Sherlock felt a thrill go through his chest. He promptly quashed it down, reasoning that John was just checking on him again.

“Hi,” John said, giving Sherlock another warm smile. He held up a small bottle of scotch and winked conspiratorially. “No one knows I still have some of this left. Thought you could use some after your tumble. How are you feeling? Still okay?”

“A little stiff but a good night’s sleep should cure that,” Sherlock replied, settling on his bed and making sure there was ample space between himself and John. Space that was quickly removed when John sat next to him. “I appreciate your dedication to your job but I really am fine. You didn’t need to wait here to check on me.”

“But it was my pleasure,” John laughed, waggling the bottle underneath Sherlock’s nose. He uncapped it and took a drink, passing it to Sherlock. He watched while Sherlock drank, eyes skipping down the white column of the other man’s throat before moving back up. When the bottle was handed back, he took another sip to savor it and what he imagined was the taste of Sherlock’s lips. “Besides, I was curious about that moment earlier. When you said oh.”

“Ah, that,” Sherlock said, clenching his hands on his knees to hide as much of his embarrassment as possible. He looked down at the floor, knowing the flush that spread over his cheeks was harder to hide. “Just a... realization I suppose. At least, I think it was a realization. It might not have been anything at all.”

“Now you have me even more curious,” John said, bumping Sherlock’s shoulder with his own. “What was it? I noticed you said oh after looking into my eyes. Was it about me?”

“I thought... I thought I saw... _interest_ ,” Sherlock said quietly, still not meeting John’s eyes. Really, he thought he might melt from the embarrassment. “The same interest I had, to be quite frank.”

“You weren’t wrong,” John said just as quietly. He reached out and cupped Sherlock’s chin, turning the other man’s head until they were face to face. “The interest was there. It’s been there and I was hoping you’d catch on. I’m glad you finally did.”

“Oh,” was all Sherlock could say, eyes widening as he read the truth of John’s words on his face. And then he decided to stop thinking and do something on impulse. Leaning forward, Sherlock laid his lips gently on John’s for a few moments. The kiss was light and sweet and both men were smiling when Sherlock pulled back from it. 

John made the next move, capping the bottle and setting it on the floor. Then, he wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him close. They kissed again, John licking lightly over Sherlock’s bottom lip before nibbling at it. Sherlock fisted a hand in the cream jumper John was wearing, his mouth opening on a gasp. The kiss turned darker then, hungrier, as John teased Sherlock with his tongue. Sherlock kissed back exuberantly, sucking John’s bottom lip into his mouth before letting his slide back out slowly. That prompted a groan from John that reverberated between their mouths before he pushed Sherlock down onto the bed.

Sherlock went willingly, hands slipping underneath the cream jumper. John didn’t have an undershirt on and his hands met warm flesh. Sherlock slid his hands up John’s back, pulling the jumper up with them. When he reached John’s shoulders, the other man sat up and pulled the jumper over his head. After dropping it on the floor, John started working on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. As each button opened, he dropped a kiss on the exposed flesh. Each kiss lasted a little bit longer than the last until John was sliding his mouth down from the button on Sherlock’s stomach to the one just above the waist of his pants. With a wicked grin directed at Sherlock, John undid his pants and continued his exploration. Kisses and little nibbles littered Sherlock’s skin as John worked on pulling his pants and boxers down.

Sherlock groaned quietly as John pulled his pants down past his hips and placed kisses at the juncture of his thigh. Special attention was paid to the jut of his hipbone, sharp due to the spareness of his frame. Finally, John pulled the pants and boxers all the way off, Sherlock lifting his legs to help. Ranging his frame over Sherlock, John kissed and sucked at the column of Sherlock’s neck. He paid special attention to the spot behind his ear when Sherlock let out a rumbling groan and the skin just under the point of his jaw. Meanwhile, Sherlock’s hands were busy at John’s waist, struggling to undo them with no space between their bodies.

“Okay, you need to sit back for a minute,” Sherlock finally said in a huff, pushing at John’s shoulders. “I need space to get your pants off.”

John laughed and obliged, watching as Sherlock’s fingers traced over the skin just above his waistband before making quick work of the button and zipper. The pants were unceremoniously shoved down his hips, and Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath when he saw John wasn’t wearing anything underneath those either, before getting dumped on the floor. Wrapping an arm around John’s waist, Sherlock pulled him back down until they were lying flat on the bed again. Their hips slotted together easily and they each made little rocking motions against the other automatically.

“You thought this out, didn’t you?” Sherlock asked, wanting to know before arousal and desire clouded everything else out. “You hoped for this outcome. That’s why no underthings.”

“Sherlock, I can tell you I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met,” John replied, leaning down to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. His breath feathered hot and moist over Sherlock’s skin. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve imagined you naked underneath me. The reality is so much better.”

Sherlock laughed at that, leaning up and sucking a red mark onto the side of John’s neck. It was his turn to kiss and nibble his way around John’s neck before sliding down to lick at his collarbone. As John’s hand snuck between their bodies to wrap around both of their erections, Sherlock’s mouth wandered down to one nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and scraping his teeth over it. John moaned and threaded the fingers of his free hand into Sherlock’s hair, holding him in place. His other hand started moving slowly, stroking up and down over their erections. When he reached the heads, his thumb swiped over them to gather the pre-come beading there and spread it down their erections.

“God, Sherlock, your mouth is talented at more than just talking,” John murmured as his stroked faster over their erections. “Makes me wonder what it would feel like around my cock. Bet you know all sorts of tricks with that tongue. You’d be so enthusiastic, too, wouldn’t you to go by what you’re doing now.”

Sherlock rumbled appreciatively, glancing up at John through the screen of his eyelashes. He kissed his way across John’s chest to give his other nipple the same attention. While he did so, the arm that was wrapped around John’s waist slid down until it rested on the curve of his ass. There, Sherlock squeezed and kneaded in time with John’s movements, their hips rocking harder and faster together. When the nipple he was playing with was hard under his tongue, Sherlock let it slip out of his mouth with a wet sucking noise.

“I have a bit of an oral fixation,” he confided to John in a breathless voice. He grinned and pressed a kiss to the skin over John’s pulse. “It’s an obsession at times, I will admit. When I get something near my mouth, I almost always have to kiss and suck at it. Pens, coins, skin, fingers. I can spend hours just kissing and licking at your neck, for instance. Or littering kisses down your body. Sucking your cock between my lips and teasing you until you were begging me to let you come.”

“You have as much of a dirty mouth as I do,” John groaned, adding a twisting motion when he reached the heads of their erections. It was something he tended to do to increase sensation in himself and he wanted to see how Sherlock reacted to it. His reaction was everything John could have hoped for: Sherlock’s mouth opened in an “o” shape as a quiet moan escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered closed and the hand on John’s ass squeezed harder. “I want to know you’re as close as I am. I want you to come at the same time I do. Tell me, Sherlock. Are you ready to come?”

“Yes,” Sherlock gasped, his hips pumping faster against John’s. He dragged John’s head down for a searing kiss, his body tightening. Warmth spread out from his belly to his limbs as he orgasmed, John following just a few seconds later. They didn’t stop moving, riding out their orgasms as warm, wet liquid spread over their stomachs. They didn’t break their kiss either, breaths taken in quick gasps as their heads moved.

A few minutes later, their hips slowed and Sherlock kissed John gently before letting his head drop back down on his pillow. With a quiet groan, John let go of their erections and shifted until he was lying next to Sherlock with one leg thrown over his. They lay like that for a few moments, catching their breath. Once he could breathe normally again, Sherlock reached for the towel he kept draped over the chair next to his bed and cleaned them both off. He spent more time on John, swiping the towel gently over his skin time and again, the fingers of his other hand following each motion. John watched, one hand propped behind his head and a smile on his face. After they were both clean, Sherlock laid back down and they wrapped their arms around each other.

“So is this going to become a thing?” Sherlock asked finally, breaking the easy silence between them. “Because I’d very much like this to become a thing. Like _us_ to become a thing.”

“Yeah, I’d like that too,” John said. He pulled the blanket out from underneath them with a little difficulty and draped it over both of them. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night,” Sherlock replied, sated and happier than he thought he could be. He let a caress come into his voice with his next word. “John.”

The next day, a few joking comments were made when John moved his few personal belongings into Sherlock’s hut. Mostly about how they couldn’t believe John was finally done with being on his own and that they were surprised he could stand the strange Sherlock. Other than that, life went on in the camp as normal. And Sherlock and John discovered that what was between them was more profound than anything they’d experienced before. After that, whenever either went on an expedition, the other was right beside him.


End file.
